


when you're gone i have no one to tell

by intoxicatelou



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Armor Kink, Breathplay, College Student Peter Parker, Dom/sub Undertones, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Iron Man Suit Kink, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Praise Kink, Questionable Coping Mechanisms, Resurrection, Rough Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26806774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intoxicatelou/pseuds/intoxicatelou
Summary: He’s an adult now. Almost twenty one. But when he thinks back to the memory, underneath  the shame, the guilt, is the undeniable longing, the sharp pin prick of desire, live-wire like he’s a teenager all over again.Which is to say, it had felt good, like. Really good. Better than any of the sex he’d had in college good.Technically, it shouldn’t make sense, it had been all him, the armor nothing more than a statue. A ghost of what could have been.And yet, Peter calls out anyway, “Fri, Can you still access Mark 47?”
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 16
Kudos: 185
Collections: Yes Fest 2020





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toucanpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toucanpie/gifts).



> My dearest toucan, bear with me. I saw "Armor Kink" + "Character Masturbates While Fantasizing About Rough Sex" and let's just say...my hand slipped. This is kinda sad but also hopefully,,, sexy? Hope you enjoy this! <3
> 
> This is set Post-Endgame with FFH sort of hand waved to the background (and completely ignoring the Identity Reveal bit). 
> 
> title is a lyric from [cellophane by FKA twigs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YkLjqFpBh84) which I looped while writing this.
> 
> (re-dated for reveals, sorry if you're already seen this!)

> **A wound is a self reporting instrument  
>  I sleep with his face under my tongue**
> 
> — Eduardo Corral, [ “Lines Written at Federico García Lorca Park” ](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/153802/lines-written-at-federico-garcia-lorca-park)

+

Peter doesn’t know how he gets there — tie loose, a bottle of Thor’s New Asgard mead empty in his right hand, staring at the silhouette of _his_ suit. But maybe that’s the point, he doesn’t need to know, not when he’s staring at the shape of what was once Tony Stark, alcohol pushing him closer and closer until his breath fogs the clear glass. 

“Fri, lights at 25%” Peter slurs, and the corner of the lab glows dimly. Bright enough for Peter’s enhanced eyesight, but not bright enough for anyone to notice him if they’d come looking for him. Not that they would, the party in full swing upstairs and Peter’s the only one who uses any part of the lab these days. 

They had buried the body, but there was no protocol for the suits. Tony had left the wording vague, metaphorical, or as the lawyers saw it, practically absent, and after some bickering between SHIELD and Stark Industries, almost all thirty of them had been treated just like his collection of sport cars. Some had wandered into museums for memorial exhibits, a few were offered to the friends that were left, one was offered to SHIELD in good faith, and the rest remained, gathering dust and waiting to be used as spare parts if needed. 

And yet, the one in front of him, the only one left in the tower, Mark 47 and its eerily familiar red and gold, was spotless. 

Peter had found the secret suit chamber months ago, but he remembers the first gut punch feeling at seeing the armor this close in person again. He imagined Tony saying, _I got you there, didn’t I, kid?_ , stepping out of the metal tomb, dressed to the nines, unbruised and whole. Peter dreamed it would be like their fight all those years ago on the roof, and hysteric, he’d asked the same question he once had, barely fifteen but still so eager, desperate, wanting. 

“If you even cared,” Peter spoke into the silence, “you’d actually be here.” 

He’d held his breath, as if he was at the funeral again, expecting a miracle that won’t come. Of course, the suit didn’t blink back, just stood there, a stoic wonder, as Peter crumpled to his knees, sobbing in what felt like the first time in months. 

From then on, it had become a ritual. He’d visit the Mark 47 whenever he could, content to end his lab days with an hour or two sitting, and then soon, talking, with the armor, as if the man inside were alive and listening. 

Peter doesn’t need to Web MD post-traumatic stress disorder to know this isn’t normal. For most people, the day Tony Stark had died had been remembered as the day half the world had turned back from dust. They missed him, but eventually, the gratitude at what he’d done overpowered the grief, and they moved on, because it’s what Tony Stark would’ve wanted. 

_Time heals,_ or is supposed to anyway _,_ and it’s why Peter had turned down Sam’s calls and therapists and the gap year. He’d relied on the adage to get him through high school and into college, but now as he hears the bitter boom of fireworks, the bustling crowd upstairs all waiting for the ball to drop, Peter knows for him it won’t end. He can still touch the memory of that day on the battlefield as if it was yesterday, can still see Tony’s cracked armor, his grey face, that last, shuddering exhale. 

_10, 9, 8_ — Peter hears the chant of the countdown, a reminder that soon he would be living in another year without the man he’d only grown to love more in his absence. Somehow _Mr. Stark_ had turned into _Tony_ for him, Peter’s feelings transforming into first name personal after too many nights spent touching himself and imagining what could be. 

The tears well up in his eyes on cue and Peter places the bottle on the floor with a thud, his fingers scrambling for the latch and he watches as the glass disappears completely, until it’s just him and the suit. 

Peter usually only does it to clean the suit, to keep it as it once was, because even five years later, he’s still holding out on the hope Tony might come back one day. 

But now, he presses himself against the armor driven by a different need. It’s easy with his strength to manipulate the arms until they’re wrapped around him, caging him in a makeshift hug. He does his best to not dent the metal, eyes blurry as his hearing picks up the noise of streamers and celebration. 

“Happy new year, Mr. Stark,” Peter murmurs, pretending as if this is years ago and he’s still that bright eyed kid. His breath fogs up against the unlit arc reactor, and he doesn’t know why he does it, but he leans inch closer to press his lips to the cool metal. 

One of his hands wraps itself around the head of the armor, accidentally pulling it down, just a little, and the gaze, no matter how blank, is still surprising enough that Peter startles, pulling his mouth away from the reactor, blushing a little. He shifts back abruptly, jostling the position of the arms, the metal creaking as the gauntlet drops from its grip on Peter’s back to just above the curve of his ass and — _oh._

Peter blinks back his tears, his breathing hard for a completely another reason as he tests the grip by leaning back every so slightly, controlling his strength as he pushes back into the unmoving hold of the gauntlet. 

“Holy shit,” Peter curses, as his cock twitches, and in his drunk haze, it’s easy to imagine it’s _his_ hand against his ass, that this was some fever roleplay dream they’d concocted together. 

_Is it like you always imagined, kid?_ He hears Tony say in that voice he’s still got in the back of his head, even after all these years. 

“Better,” Peter finds himself saying, the word choked out as he begins to grind in earnest against the front of the suit, sloppy and half uncoordinated but it’s enough with the gauntlet’s fingers digging into his ass. Obviously like any horny teenager, Peter had once dreamed of fucking Iron Man as well...Iron Man. Armor and all. He especially remembers how those fantasies had taken new light with the new set of posters Tony had gotten him as a gag gift for his sixteenth birthday, signed and all because he liked to push Peter’s buttons, or at least slightly nudge them without knowing just where he’s nudging them. Peter remembers how he’d tried to deadpan, _ha ha very funny Mr. Stark_ , because it mattered then to keep the wretched, blooming desire trapped inside him. _I promise I’ll put up some Spider-man posters too, just so we’re even but until then…_ he remembers Tony’s face, that beautiful, dazzling grin as he revealed Peter’s real gift: a custom-designed Starkphone. 

“Fuck,” Peter curses as he shoves his hand down his pants, untucking his dress shirt uncerominously. He lets the memory play, the party Tony had thrown him, how it had felt like everything and nothing all at once because it’s not like sixteen was legal or possible or anything other than another reminder of the distance between them, even though Peter could swear Tony’s fingers had lingered on the collar of his new suit (another gift) for a second too long. _You look good, kid. Expensive suits you, literally._ And Peter remembers how he’d tried to laugh, but failed miserably, breath still caught on the loop of _you look good, kid, you look good, you look good, you look_ —

No that it mattered because Tony didn’t notice, just stepped back with one of those smiles, leaving Peter hot and wanting like always. Later that night, he’d bit the designer tie Tony bought him as he jerked himself off roughly, staring at the new poster on his wall, imagining Tony praising him for a different set of reasons, his body on display, wearing nothing as he opens himself up on the lab table, his knees digging into the metal as he showed Tony just how good he could be, even out of the suit —

“ _Mr. Stark_ ,” Peter whimpers, as his orgasm hits him hard, the armor groaning as his fingers grab at the chest plate to steady himself as he comes with his back arching. It’s messy, because in his drunken haze Peter's unzipped enough that some of his come paints not just the inside of his pants but the armor’s red and gold stomach plates. 

Peter blinks through the blurriness in his head as he takes in the image in front of him, gasping as his cock twitches in his hand again, practically ready to go again. It’s obscene seeing the suit, Tony’s creation, marked up by him, as if he has any ownership of this armor (he doesn’t) and the dead man inside (he dreams). 

——

The thing is Peter remembers everything. Not just Titan, but what it’d been like before, the hours in the lab, the movie nights, the take out orders, the schematics for what was then Mark 50. He remembers the bad jokes and college talk; what it felt like to be pinned underneath Tony for a breathless couple of seconds when they sparred in the gym. 

He sees it all in his head, clearly, as if it hasn’t been almost half a decade since, as if there was no war, no space mission gone wrong, no dust. Peter doesn’t like to think about Titan, but he obsesses about the before, those moments that he never knew would be their last and all the times he’d felt as if the both of them were veering towards the same inevitable, unspoken thing, the tension between them just waiting to snap when Peter turned seventeen, finally legal in New York. 

Peter’s never been big on birthdays but he’d been looking forward to that one, countdown in his phone and everything. 

In hindsight, he should’ve known better, given the old Parker luck. 

——

He makes himself come one more time anyway, painting the armor even more than before. (If he’s going to have to clean up anyway, might as well make it worth it, he decides.) The second time feels almost better than the first, stars flashing inside his eyes. He catches his breath eventually, blinking. Peter swallows the guilt, but his hands shake as he pulls out his phone to snap a photo of the mess he’s created, doing his best to focus instead on how his hips ached from how hard he’d shoved himself back onto the unforgiving fingers of the gauntlet. Hopefully, Peter thinks, this’ll mean bruises. At least before his healing kicks in. 

Peter knows it should be nothing, it’s just a metal suit, that it isn’t him. 

But still, Tony built it, down to its every atom. 

It’s something. 

——

He finds himself in front of Mark 47 again, days into the new year, completely sober this time. He’s just wrapped up the latest update on his web shooters with Karen and F.R.I.D.A.Y’s help, and his feet take him to the hallway on instinct. 

“Hi,” Peter says, and for a moment, it feels almost normal. The armor’s clean, painstakingly polished and then Peter remembers how he’d cleaned it the last time, scrubbing and scrubbing until his hands were raw, the high of his orgasm fading into the quiet, miserable mist of his mind. No one had come looking for him like he’d thought, though May had texted him sometime after two to ask if he got back to his apartment okay. 

He’s an adult now. Almost twenty one. But when he thinks back to the memory, underneath the shame, the guilt, is the undeniable longing, the sharp pin prick of desire, live-wire like he’s a teenager all over again. 

Which is to say, it had felt good, like. Really good. Better than any of the sex he’d had in college good. 

Technically, it shouldn’t make sense, it had been all him, the armor nothing more than a statue. A ghost of what could have been. 

And yet, Peter calls out anyway, “Fri, Can you still access Mark 47?”

“Yes, but in limited capacity. All weapons protocol requires an override from either Mrs. Potts or Colonel Rhodes.” 

“Right,” Peter says. It isn’t surprising in the least, and if anything, works exceptionally well in Peter’s favor. “What about sentry mode?” 

“Sentry mode is still accessible.” FRI responds, and Peter feels a flutter in his stomach. Part shame knowing he’s about to use a multimillion dollar piece of armor as a glorified sex toy again, but also part excitement because he can’t deny he hasn’t felt a fulfilling orgasm like that in a long time. 

Grief is painful like this. Even in college, which he’d been told would be his sexual becoming, had paled in this regard given the after effects of superheroing that no one had told him about. He assumes Tony would’ve coached him about the nightmares, if he’d stuck around. But he didn’t, and so Peter’s got no instruction manual on what to do with the fact that he can’t fall asleep next to another body knowing that he’d woken May and Happy up screaming more than once before he moved out. 

He’d still hooked up, occasionally. Alcohol and drugs and being friends with MJ will do that to you, who had dragged him to parties on weekends all through freshman and sophomore year. But now that he’s about to graduate, all that fumbling around in dark corners just seems embarrassing to think about. 

Besides, he’d read somewhere that good relationships were built on trust. How could Peter expect a partner to trust him when half of his life is a national secret? He’d turned 18 and SHIELD had made sure to let him know that his identity isn’t just his anymore, that Spiderman was an Avenger now and under their jurisdiction. Of course it’s his decision in the end, but there’s a whole team waiting to be dispatched when he does decide to go public with his identity. 

Even that’s something bitter to think about. Peter had always imagined when the day came, he’d do it with Tony’s hand warm on his back, his voice in Peter’s ear, helping him navigate the reporters with a practiced ease. Maybe they’d get dinner after, and Tony would give him one of those special smiles, reserved just for when Peter’s impressed him, _you did great today, kid. I’m proud of you._

“Peter?” FRI’s voice interrupts, and Peter blinks. Snapping out of the not actually a memory. “Would you like me to activate Sentry mode?” 

“Yes,” Peter says, without thinking twice about it, his cock already twitching with the prospect. “Lock the lab while you’re at it, FRI.” 

While the suit might not be Tony, it’s still an image of Peter’s dreams. 

——

It’s easier now to maneuver the arms, especially with F.R.I.D.A.Y’s help. Peter’s not registered as a threat, so the suit just tilts his head towards him, almost curiously. He knows it’s recording, one of the protocols of Sentry mode, and it would be easy to disable, but something about knowing he’s being watched makes it feel all the more real. The idea that if they’d done this together, Tony could be sitting somewhere stroking his own cock as he watches Peter fuck himself on the fingers of the gauntlet. 

“Oh god,” Peter blushes, as he works the first lube slicked metal digit inside him. It’s bigger than his own fingers, firmer, colder. He’d undressed completely this time, the span of the gauntlet’s hand wide enough that aside from the one perpendicular finger the rest spread out enough for Peter to balance his weight, so it wasn’t as if he’s suspended in mid air entirely. Not that the flexibility was a problem, given his super powers. 

_You’re incredible, you know that?_ He imagines Tony whispering, as the first finger makes it past his hole, long enough to brush just so against his prostate as he bottoms out. 

“FRI, could you,” Peter asks, panting a little as his body adjusts to the intrusion. “adjust the index finger’s angle by like, fifteen degrees?” 

He’d turned down her vocal affirmative responses pretty early on (he loves the AI, but it was bit of a mood killer), and Peter hardly has to wait a second before the finger curls inside him, just as tactile as Peter remembered from all the times Tony had pulled him up after they’d done some practice rounds with the suit, running a hand through Peter’s hair, the gauntlet’s smooth metal not catching on anyway of his flyaway curls, the design meticulously perfect. 

“You feel _so_ good,” Peter whimpers, as he begins to grind down on the finger curled inside him, his pace soon growing unforgiving, soft _ah ah ah’s_ being punched out of him as he chases that spark building, tingling down his toes. 

He pauses right at the edge, gasping, before webbing the bottle of the lube up from the floor. His thighs ache already, a pleasant, warm, buzzing pain. 

“Alright, FRI give me another finger, please.” 

——

Peter’s eyes are wet by the time he works the third inside him, his vision blurry as he takes in the lit mask still staring at him, the glowing blue of the arc reactor. 

“Please, Tony, I’m so — I’m so close.” Peter whispers, his voice hoarse. He’s been going for almost two hours, he asked FRI to put up a timer not long ago, wanting to know just how far he’s pushing himself tonight. 

_I know, sweetheart._ The Tony in his head says, his usual muted voice clear as day now. Peter has no trouble imagining the exact cadence, not when he’s denied his orgasm more than three times now, wanting to be good. _Soon, just want to see you ride three of them for a little while longer._

“O-Okay,” Peter hiccups, before following the silent instruction, picking himself up to ride the thickness of the three fingers inside him. They’re angled perfectly on his prostate, and his muscles ache as he moves, and he feels drunk on the pleasurepain. 

_Peter,_ Tony hums and Peter wants to lose it, he’s close, but there’s something more he needs. 

“My throat,” Peter whispers, barely audible, half a moan but F.R.I.D.A.Y’s attuned enough to his voice by now, especially since Peter’s got her interfacing with Karen as well. In one fluid motion, the other arm moves, the gauntlet closing gently around Peter’s throat, not quite tight but still enough for him to feel somewhat of a constriction. 

_God, you’re a vision,_ and Peter’s hips fuck back onto the fingers with a new vigor, desperate to come now. He can only imagine what he looks like, the gauntlet around his throat, naked and oh so willing. Maybe he’ll study the footage later. _Touch yourself, kid. Let me see you lose it._

And so Peter does, gasping for breath as his orgasm washes over him at the silent command. 

“Tony, _Tony,”_ Peter repeats, choking on a litany of a dead man’s name. 

——

It should end there, but it doesn’t. Peter goes back. And again. And again. It takes him a month before he picks up the courage to finally implement the little program he’d been tinkering with ever since he’d first discovered the suit, even before things became sexual. Though, given the new circumstances, he’d added a few extra protocols. 

“Peter,” F.R.I.D.A.Y says as Peter adapts Karen’s nanite interface to the hub of the suit. It’s just a failsafe measure, better to have the both of them there as he runs the program. He hasn’t tested it aside from the cursory simulations, instead blocked out an entire weekend in the lab so he could make sure it was up to standard. Pepper had hardly batted an eye when Peter had checked into the Tower. Peter had a room here since it was one of things Tony had insisted on in the Compound before it was blown up, and Pepper thought no reason why not to adapt it to the Tower once they relocated back to the city. 

He’s done this enough times that even the irrational fear of someone walking in on him has dissolved. It’s not like anyone else was cleared for access to Tony’s private labs anyway and even then, with the black out protocol, FRIDAY would warn him with plenty of time to spare. Not to mention the whole sixth spider sense thing. 

“Are you sure you want to run this?” Again, Peter’s sure an AI isn’t supposed to sound hesitant, but here there was no other word to describe the slight offness in her tone. 

“Of course, I’m sure.” Peter says defensively. It really is a small program, something he hadn’t even asked Ned for help on. Coding wasn’t his area of expertise anyway, Tony had always been better about these things but in the few years they’d had together, he’d learned to keep up, just barely. “It’s just...I miss his voice.” 

“I understand,” F.R.I.D.A.Y responds after a long moment and Peter feels as if something tight had dislodged itself from his throat. 

“Okay,” Peter takes a breath, before speaking. “Time to wake up _Mr. Stark_.” 

It’s hard to tell when the eyes light up if they’re actually looking at him or through him. The name gets the armor’s head to tilt, cueing Peter in on that at least he’d heard him — the protocol responding to the starting command. It’s a little nostalgic to use this moniker but Peter’s nothing if not predictable when it comes to the memories he has of the man. 

_“Kid?_ ” comes the voice from the armor, and it sounds so much like him, Peter crumples against the chest plate, the sob spilling out of him. 

He hears the arm move before he feels it, the gauntlet cupping the back of his head, almost gently. “It’s going to be okay, Peter.” The armor says, still in Tony’s voice and Peter can’t think about anything other than it _works_ , even if the cadence is a little off. He knows in the back of his mind that it’s really Karen talking to him, that the voice is just a skin, a programmed driver interfacing with all the audio input F.R.I.D.A.Y has saved from all those years. 

It’s not really him, just a voice from his head — except now thanks to this tonal observation neural yield (T.O.N.Y for short, because abbreviations are important), it’s no longer just in his head. 

“I miss you,” Peter murmurs, and the gauntlet against his head tightens briefly, something of a squeeze. Peter’s heartbeat stutters, Karen’s doing better than he predicted her to be doing considering he’d just read in data from practically every romantic movie made, including some uh, explicit ones, and then hoped that the AI with some help from F.R.I.D.A.Y would synthesize the rest. Then again, it seems fitting considering Tony had made her especially for him. 

“I’m right here, kid.” The armor responds, the other hand coming up to hold his waist. 

And for once, Peter almost believes it. 

——

He doesn’t last long, not with the armor’s — _Tony’s_ voice in his ear and the gauntlet fingers underneath his jaw, urging him to fist his cock faster, harder. 

“Yeah just like that,” The armor grunts, and it’s a little fake, but Peter’s gone, the voice is close enough to how he’d imagined Tony would say it. “Come on, Peter.” 

“Tony, I’m —” Peter gasps, and the gauntlet turns his chin up so he’s staring directly at the mask. 

“Come for me, baby,” The voice says, and so Peter does, his release painting his stomach, his back arching. Peter takes a shuddering breath, sagging against the armor, which moves intuitively to catch his body weight, an arm wrapped firm around his waist. 

“Thanks,” Peter whispers, and the gauntlet hand does the same squeeze motion. 

“Anytime, kid.” Tony murmurs, “You did great.” 

Peter smiles, but he can taste the tears at the back of his throat. 

——

The thing is it’s enough and it isn’t. There are days when Peter can’t imagine what he’d do if he couldn’t slip into the lab, into the secret hallway, undress and let the armor take care of him. There are hours when Peter can just be a body caught in a pleasure he’d almost given up on ever attaining, Tony’s voice taking him right where he needs to. It’s freeing is the thing, a kind of stress relief he’d only dreamed about. 

“You look happier,” May says, looking at him over her menu. They were at their monthly dinner. 

“I am,” Peter finds himself responding for once. 

“I’m glad, honey.” May smiles, before grinning teasingly. “Is there a special someone I should know about?” 

“Um.” Peter flushes, thinking about how he’d been testing the nanites phallic capabilities earlier this afternoon because it was about time he actually got to fuck the suit. “No. No! Just like, school’s going really well. Graduation is right around the corner. Woo, Senior spring!” 

May raised an eyebrow, but thankfully dropped it. “If you say so. But you’re right about graduation! Any idea what you’ll do after?” 

“Probably move into the Tower.” Peter said, the words slipping out before he can think too much about them. “Um, Pepper said the offer’s always open. And I think it might be nice to take some time off, just work on my research in the lab before I think about what comes next.” 

Neither Pepper or May would guess what exact ‘research’ Peter’s interested in. He does have other projects that deserve his attention, but lately all he could think about is the suit and of being as close as possible to this artifice of Tony’s voice. 

Something in May’s eyes soften, and Peter tilts his head, questioningly. 

“Sorry it’s just,” May starts, and she sounds a little choked up. “It’s just nice to see you taking time for yourself. You know, after high school, after everything happened, you were just so bent on going to Columbia right away, and I know you said you were fine with what happened with Tony, but we were worried about you, Peter.” 

“May,” Peter’s voice is tight, but May shakes her head. 

“No, I need to tell you. I’ve kept it inside all these years, but he was important to you. And after the funeral, I thought it’d be something like after Ben, but the look in your eyes Peter — it reminded me more of what it’d been like for me when Ben had died.” 

“I don’t — May, what are you —” Peter can feel the tears threatening to spill, and he digs his nails into his palm.

“You loved him, Peter. In your own way, I know you did.” May says, and she reaches out to grab Peter’s curled fist, giving him a comforting squeeze. “And honey, I bet he loved you too. From what I’ve heard from Pepper, you were one of the main reasons he risked it all to bring everyone back. He couldn’t imagine living in a world without you.” 

The information stings. _And yet Tony imagined I’d be fine with living in a world without him?_ Peter thinks, darkly. But he schools his features for May. 

“Anyway, it’s good to see that you’ve moved on.” May finishes, pulling her hand away. “I wasn’t sure you ever would from a thing like that. It took me years, and I still miss Ben all the time.” 

“Yeah,” Peter responds, a little numbly. He puts on what he hopes is a convincing smile. “I’m fine. I’m happy. Like you said, it’s been years.” 

——

There are days when Peter would give anything to have Tony walk out of the suit, to be gently touched skin to skin instead of skin to metal.

  
  



	2. two.

> **I’m afraid of falling asleep,  
> ** **because I will desire him in my sleep.**
> 
> — Richie Hoffman, “[ Coquelicot ](https://www.quarterlywest.com/salvage-selvage/hofmann)”

+

Peter graduates Columbia summa cum laude and it’s wonderful, it’s great, it’s terrible. 

Tony isn’t there, and for some reason, Pepper and May had thought leaving a honorary seat for him at the ceremony would make Peter feel better. And it does for approximately five seconds before that clawing ache inside him rears its ugly head and he’s so bitter he can taste the bile burning at the back of his throat. 

Peter drinks his way through his and MJ’s graduation party at the Tower. It’s a small crowd, a few of their mutual friends, May, Happy, Pepper. He doesn’t miss the way Pepper and MJ eye each other. MJ informs him that they’d grown close ever since MJ’s internship with Stark Industries this past spring, that she’s moving to California to join their sustainability team there. He doesn’t know how he’d missed the news, except maybe it isn’t that surprising considering the increasing hours he’d started spending in the lab ever since the new year and decreasing time he’s had for any other social commitments because of it. 

“Maybe you should slow down,” MJ says, sliding next to him in the bar as Peter tosses back another shot. 

“Maybe you should catch up,” Peter sasses back, and she rolls her eyes before stealing Peter’s next shot, swallowing it smoothly. 

“Don’t forget who taught you, Parker.” MJ deadpans, and Peter laughs. “Can’t believe it’s over. We did it!” 

“Cheers to finally entering the Adult World.” Peter says with a snort, pushing another shot towards MJ. “Also, when were you going to tell me you’ve got the hots for Pepper Potts?” 

“I - What - That isn’t - Also, tell me you noticed how that weirdly rhymed.” MJ stutters, and it’s Peter’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“You totally have a _crush._ ” Peter emphasizes, “You’ve been watching her all night. Admit it.” 

MJ shakes her head. “I’m moving to California. Also, she’s officially my boss now. ” 

“That is like, the total opposite of what you should do.” Peter says, scrunching his nose. “You should tell Pepper before it’s too late.”

“I guess you would know all about that,” MJ says, and Peter knows she means it as a joke, but he can’t help but feel the statement hit him like a punch to the jaw. 

“Shit, Peter, I didn’t —” MJ begins when she notices the finger grooves in the marble that hadn’t been there a moment ago when Peter pulls his hands away, standing abruptly. 

“No, no, seriously it’s okay.” Peter gives her a fake smile, tries to ignore the sharp ache in his chest. “You’re right. Even with the years between us, I guess I should've told him.”

“Peter, are you sure you’re —” 

“I’m fine, MJ.” Peter says, taking an unsteady step back. “I’m just going to go get some air or lie down or something. I’m fine. But tell her, yeah?” 

He doesn’t wait for her answer, just stumbles past the crowd into the elevator. To him, the destination is obvious and after everything he’s done the past few months, Peter doesn’t even have to ask F.R.I.D.A.Y to take him to the lab. 

——

“ _Mr. Stark_ ,” Peter tells the armor when it lights up, “I graduated today.” 

“Congrats kid,” the armor responds, exactly like Tony now. Time’s caught up to him, Peter can’t tell the difference anymore in his head of what Tony’s voice sounded like unrecorded and real versus this facsimile he’s programmed. 

“You didn’t show up,” Peter says, letting the anger slip into his tone as he undoes his tie, kicks off his shoes. Undressing with a fever, an itch deep in his skin. “There was an empty seat and everything.” 

“I’m sorry, baby.” The suit responds, predictably. Impatient, Peter pulls off his shirt, not caring about how the buttons cascade over the floor. 

Tony’s voice turns sultry at the sound, the Iron Man armor tilting its head. “What can I do to make it up to you?” 

——

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, please” Peter chants, desperate, his hole fluttering around two of the gauntlet’s lubed fingers. He’s already come once tonight just from the fingering, but he’s nowhere near where he wants to be. 

“Well since you’re asking so nicely,” and Peter imagines the smirk underneath the mask when the other gauntlet comes down hard to spank his ass, the metal fingers immediately kneading into the flesh after. 

“ _Tony_ ,” Peter whines at the sensation. His hips rock forward, his hard cock bumping against the edge of the lab table, drooling precome. He doesn’t have to beg again, he can hear the nanites assembling, the cool metal poking at his rim before sliding in.

It’s nothing like a real cock, not warm or realistically wet or flexible, but it works just as well, hell sometimes even better, for Peter’s super stamina. And it’s not just about the preciseness of the armor’s thrusts, about the statistical guarantee of an orgasm, it’s also the fact that metal doesn’t die. Metal doesn’t leave. This dream Peter’s created is forever. 

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart.” Tony murmurs, and it’s the special nickname that has Peter whimpering, arching his back even further as the armor fucks into him like the machine it is, nailing his prostate impeccably. The gauntlets grip his hips, freezing him into the position. 

“Harder, please” Peter begs, widening his stance and letting the suit hold most of his weight up. Peter feels the pace increase by an increment, and he repeats _Harder, harder,_ until he’s reached the desired mind numbing pace. 

“You want to come on my cock, kid?” Tony’s voice is lower, almost gruff. The suit’s drilling into him now, it’s a wonder he hasn’t come yet, his balls tight. He’s holding on, just barely. 

“Yes, _yes_ ” Peter sobs, his eyes closed. He can’t think of anything outside of the slick sound of the metal cock sliding in and out of him, the quiet whir of the suit. 

“Good boy,” Tony says, and the table screeches underneath Peter’s hands as his strength gets away from him, “Come for me.” 

His orgasm rips through him, as expected, the table practically putting his hands as the suit fucks him through it. 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whimpers, and the suit slows down, slow dragging the metal cock in and out of him. He shivers with the aftershocks, oversensitive from his orgasm, but the word _stop_ doesn’t leave his lips. Instead, he lets the suit continue to fuck him, silently working him through the pain until his cock is hard once more, slowly building to another orgasm. 

“I can’t — I can’t —” Peter cries, tears flowing freely. 

“You can, come on.” Tony responds, the gauntlet petting his hair. 

By the end of it, he’s weeping, body spent as he comes one last time, his throat raw as he gasps out, _stop._ The nanites dematerialize, and the suit steps back, leaving Peter once again aching, empty, and alone. 

His mind is buzzing with endorphins, but he can still taste the grief as he wipes himself and the suit off with a nearby rag, too tired to do anything more. 

——

He moves into the Tower just as Pepper moves out. Apparently MJ had taken his advice to heart, and Pepper had decided it’d be nice to move somewhere closer to Morgan’s grandparents. 

Peter would miss them, but mostly he was excited by the idea of being in the Tower alone with the armor. His quarters were already security coded but knowing that it’s just him living there now opened up even more possibilities. 

——

The first time he rides the armor in his bed, the gauntlet’s fingers in his hair, the circle of the repulsor pressed against his throat, he comes so hard he’s sure if he had neighbors they’d hear him. As it stands, it’s just the two of them, and for once, Peter doesn’t have to immediately clean up now that it’s done. Instead, he grabs a pillow and places it on top of the metal thigh, letting his body curl up around the smooth cool suit. The armor places a hand on his back, gently patting him that has Peter again marveling at the engineering in motion. 

“This is nice,” Peter mumbles, the sex fatigue catching up to him. 

“It is, kid. I’m glad you’re here.” Tony responds, as Peter lets his eyes flutter close. 

——

It becomes a habit to fall asleep with the armor there, watching him, holding him. It’s a little awkward, but with enough pillows it works surprisingly well. 

He falls into a routine. Wake up, Lab, sex, sleep. He doesn’t feel as alone now that he can feel the armor next to him, reach out and have someone solid there. It isn’t Tony, but somehow the nightmares can’t tell the difference. He feels better rested than he has in years, especially on the nights he lets the armor talk to him, spinning stories that aren’t real, spouting science facts that are until the rest of his day fades away. 

——

Peter thinks he could keep living like this. It’s almost December, almost a year since he’d taken this sex armor thing a little too seriously, and the guilt, the shame, the insanity of what he’s doing has dulled to the background. It pales when he takes into account how healthy he feels, how he can finally talk about what had happened. He knows the AI’s can't respond like an actual therapist, but still. To even have the ghost of Tony’s voice washing over him after he breaks down about Titan, to hear the _it’s okay, Peter, just breathe, breathe,_ out loud instead of his head — it’s powerful. 

But what use is a ghost when given a chance at the real thing? Peter wants to believe if he got the opportunity, he'd know the difference. A copy is just a copy after all. 

——

It's the week before Christmas when Doctor Strange shows up at his door at a frankly god awful hour, looking just about as put together as Peter feels. 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter breathes, staring at the man next to him. He'd imagined what he'd feel like when he saw the older man again for years, but this — frozen in his living room, wearing boxers and sporting what must be truly horrific bed hair — wasn't ever something that made the cut in his fantasies. He almost doesn’t believe this is real. Tony Stark looks...normal. Two arms, unbruised, speckled hair, that perfectly kept goatee. He looks how Peter had always wanted to remember him being: healthy, strong, safe. 

“Sorry Peter, I know this is the last thing you’d expect on a Sunday morning.” Doctor Strange says, apologetic, and Peter knows he isn't the only one seeing things. This is real. Tony Stark is _actually_ here. 

“Ouch, you’re making it sound like the kid’s not happy to see me.” Tony says, and in that moment, Peter hears exactly what his program is missing out on. He can hear Mr. Stark’s heartbeat, thumping as it skips a beat when Peter takes a step closer, reaching out with a hand to pull him into a hug. Can hear the whoosh of breath as they hug, and _feel_ as the older man says, “So I take it, you _are_ happy to see me.” 

“So happy,” Peter blubbers out, crying, letting him be wrapped in the warm of these arms, not metal, but skin. Human, tangible, real.


	3. epilogue

> **I trust him to release me from the blame  
>  of pleasure.**
> 
> — Rigoberto González, [ “Other Fugitives and Other Strangers” ](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51573/other-fugitives-and-other-strangers)

+

It’s different when Peter can see Tony’s mouth, the crinkle in his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw. It’s different when Peter can smell him, expensive cologne, but underneath that, the hint of coffee, mint, and clean. 

He deletes the program. Now that Tony’s back, the embarrassment at what he’d done over the past year sinks in. Suddenly all those videos in the private server are evidence of a thing Peter isn’t sure he’s ready to reveal about himself. So he wipes it all. He returns the suit back to where he found it. He does his best to forget it had even happened. 

Instead, he soaks up his time with Tony when he can. The Tower is suddenly a bustle of activity again, Pepper and Morgan move back in, the lab full of SHIELD agents and Doctor Strange running tests to make sure Tony Stark is the actual Tony Stark, that somewhere there hadn’t been disastrous results because of the accidental resurrection spell Doctor Strange had created. 

Funnily enough, the nightmares are worse now that Tony’s back, his mind unable to understand that his grief has no more room to exist. It’s whiplash and Peter can’t sleep. The bed feels too empty, too soft, and he’d gotten used to hearing Tony’s voice, like a favorite song lulling him to sleep. 

But he can’t ask for that. He can’t be that selfish. Peter’s struggling, but it’s nothing compared to what Tony’s going through now. Walking back into a world that had mourned him and then let go. 

The least Peter could do is make things easier for him. So he puts on a strong face. He tries not to flinch when the older man touches him, pushes down the urge of how much it makes him crave more. 

——

Of course, the avoidance tactic works only for so long. Sooner or later, the question was bound to come up. It was only time before Tony put the dots together. 

“So kid,” Tony says, tossing Peter a water bottle from the refrigerator. Peter catches it without fumbling, despite the flush in his cheeks. They’d just finished their weekly gym sparring session, an event that reminds Peter so much of the before times, sometimes he has to pinch himself to remember all of what’s happened since then. “Want to stay for dinner?” 

“Um.” Peter blinks and Tony gives him a smile. There’s something enticing about the prospect of sitting down with the man in the penthouse, and no longer avoiding the big conversations like Peter’s been doing for the last three weeks since his resurrection. But Peter has to face the music: he’s a disastrous liar. And the burning fear of Tony finding out that he used a multimillion dollar armor suit as a glorified sex toy is too much to bear. So even if it hurts to keep this distance between them, it’s the only thing he can do — until he’s ready to tell him of course. Which, knowing Peter, might not be anytime soon. He’s still learning to wrap his head around the fact that Tony Stark is _alive_ and in front of him. That this isn’t all some dream that he’ll one day wake up from. 

“I would love to, it’s just.” Peter stutters, even as Tony’s face falls. “I probably should go patrol. You know the after work crowd. Lots of bad guys lurking at like...6 pm. ” 

Tony cracks a grin at that, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Okay, well then let me come with you.” 

Peter’s eyes widen. “You don’t have to! Also, aren’t the suits...like still gone? Or something. I don’t know. But really, Mr. Stark, you don’t have to.” 

“Kid, you can call me, Tony, remember?” Tony corrects, and Peter internally groans. He’d been calling Tony _Mr. Stark_ as to teach his brain to separate the feelings he’d indulged in over the last year with the man in front of him. “Also, you’re right the whole not-dead-give-me-my-suits-back spiel is a little harder to wrangle now that everything’s bureaucratic after what happened. But between you and me, Pepper told me the Mark 47 is still secretly in the Tower.”

“Oh” is all Peter manages to choke out. For some reason, he’d thought that finding the armor had been some lucky twist of fate, that nobody knew about it other than him. He should’ve known that Pepper would keep track of inventory of the suits, and that since it’s Pepper, she wouldn’t miss any one of them. 

“Have you seen it around?” Tony asks, genuinely, and Peter tries to maintain his cool. 

“N-No. I don’t know. I don’t spend that much time in the lab,” Peter rambles, completely ineffective. 

“Really?” Tony raises an eyebrow. “From what I’ve heard you’ve spent most of the year holed up down there.” 

_Fuck,_ Peter thinks. Of all the lies he could’ve thought about, his brain went the most obvious one. 

“Actually,” Peter says, squeezing his stomach and switching tactics. “I don’t really feel that great. I think I’m just going to go lie down. “

“Kid?” Tony asks, and he looks confused. 

Peter gives him a weak smile before turning around and all but running into the elevator.

——

Peter jumps into the shower once he gets upstairs, drowning his body in hot water and doing his best not to replay the conversation he just had in his head. He doesn’t know how long he stays there underneath the hot water, letting it run over his body until his skin is scalding. 

_I don’t spend that much time in the lab_

_From what I’ve heard you’ve spent most of the year holed up down there._

“It’s fine, I’m overreacting.” Peter mumbles, thrusting his head underneath the stream of water. 

_I deleted everything, he can’t find anything._ He steps back, scrubbing his face, before looking up at the ceiling. “It’s all gone, right FRI?” 

“You have deleted the files from your private server.” F.R.I.D.A.Y responds neutrally. 

Peter frowns as he steps out the shower. That was an oddly specific answer to a very general question. “FRI, Tony can’t access anything related to the T.O.N.Y protocol correct?” 

“While Tony is unable to run the protocol due to Karen’s privacy settings, he can still access some of the physically recorded video with the suit’s blackbox feature.” 

“ _What?_ ” Peter gasps, his fingers squeezing the towel in his hand. He can’t believe that some of what he’d done is still there, buried in a secret file. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” 

“You do not have the necessary authorization to disable it.” FRI responds, “I’m sorry, Peter.” 

Peter feels his face run pale. Well, it was good while it lasted. He should probably put some clothes on and start throwing things into a suitcase. There’s no way he’s going to be able to look at Tony after something like that’s out in the open. Maybe there would’ve been a time when he could have laughed it off. But things were different now. The armor’s voice was fake, but it had still grown realer for Peter than he’d ever imagined. And Tony had no way of knowing that. It was sex, but it was also Peter’s need for comfort, for safety. The programmed armor had been a necessary replacement for the hero inside it. 

Peter swallows his tears as he wraps the towel around himself. Knowing Tony, he’s probably already figured it out by now. Peter really did spend an awfully long time in the shower, probably his last. He’s half rehearsing his apology in his head as he opens the door, before freezing in his steps. 

He does his best to ignore the shiver down his spine as he looks at the unfairly familiar image of the armor reclining on his bed, one arm on the headboard, but it hits him anyway. Peter squeezes his towel, his mouth dry as he calls out, “FRIDAY?” 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Tony says, and Peter stiffens. His program never could never nail humor very well. “But it’s just me, kid.” 

“Mr. Stark — Tony, I — I can explain.” Peter stutters out as the armor stands up, walking towards him. 

“We should probably do this face to face,” Tony says once the armor’s in front of him. Peter bites his lip as he steps back in shock, the armor softly clicking open, Tony smoothly walking out of it. 

Peter has to secretly pinch himself to know it isn’t a dream. 

“I got to tell you kid, there were a lot of things I’d expected to have to wrap my head around when Strange brought me back to life, but finding out you’ve been playing house with the armor wasn’t one of them.” Tony says, crossing his arms. He’s wearing a t-shirt and joggers, same ones from their gym workout. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Peter responds, suddenly aware of how undressed he is. As if this wasn’t humiliating enough, he isn’t even wearing pants! 

Tony frowns, “Wait. Why are you apologizing?” 

“Um. Because IhadsexwiththesuitwhenyouweretechnicallydeadandIprobablyshouldn’thave?” Peter blurts out, in one breath. He’s flustered, can already feel the heat in his cheeks. 

“Sweetheart,” Tony says, taking another step closer, his hand coming to cup Peter’s face. Peter startles at the endearment, but even more at contact, before his body wins over his head. Peter leans into the older man’s touch on instinct, feeling the rough pad of Tony’s thumb rubbing over his cheekbones. “I’m sorry, I guess I should’ve talked to you before bringing up the suit. But you don’t have anything to apologize for.” 

“Huh?” Peter says, blinking back. 

“Kid, I know it’s fucked up but I’m...I’m flattered.” Tony says, gentle. “Actually, more than flattered. I didn’t even watch more than a video or two before running up here, but it’s enough to know — Peter you missed me.” 

“Of course, I did.” Peter repeats back, raising an eyebrow. 

“For _five years_ , you missed me. You could’ve moved on. Most of the world did, but you didn’t.” 

And now Peter gets it. He can’t help but bark out a sad laugh, “I _couldn’t._ I-I tried. But I couldn’t. You don’t even understand —”

“I want to,” Tony says, leaning closer, and Peter can smell him. Sweat, coffee, the slight hint of metal from the suit. “Make me understand, kid.” 

Peter’s the one who tilts his head first, but Tony’s the one who bridges the gap between them. The kiss is fierce, passionate, warm, wet, everything Peter had no idea he was missing out on. It’s not like the armor had lips or a pulse. 

“This isn’t just a sex thing right?” Peter asks, voice trembling as they both gasp for breath. “Because, I can’t — I can’t come back from this — it’s so much more for me, Tony.” 

“I figured,” Tony says, his other hand coming to wrap around Peter’s waist. Peter bites back a whimper as he remembers the thin towel separating them. “It’s more for me too. Kid, those years without you...I still remember. And I’ll never forgive myself for putting you through the same thing.” 

“I guess we’re even now.” Peter says, before stealing another kiss. “Just no more dying okay? From either of us.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Tony murmurs with a smile, his palm slipping lower until it rests firm just above the swell of Peter’s ass. “I can’t believe the armor got to touch you before I did.” 

Peter can’t help it, he snorts. “That’s like being jealous of DUM-E.” 

“Jeez, I’ve got to worry about that robot too?” 

Peter gives a full body laugh at that, his hands coming up to wind themselves around Tony’s neck. 

“You’re ridiculous.” Peter says, only noticing a moment too late the sudden dark heat of Tony’s stare. 

“And you’re naked.” Tony responds, and Peter blushes as he looks down at the towel pooling at his feet. Peter shivers as he watches Tony’s warm fingers trail down his abdomen, stopping just short of where he wants them most. He’s more than a little hard. The older man groans above him, and Peter can hear his heartbeat increase. “God, you’re beautiful.” 

“ _Tony,_ ” Peter gasps, feeling a finger trace the outline of his cock, barely brushing over it. He can feel precome leaking from the head. 

“I guessed you were sensitive but this is better than I could’ve imagined,” Tony says, “I swear I was going to do this right. Take you out to dinner. Roses. Champagne. The whole shebang.” 

“I don’t know,” Peter says, letting his voice drop. He looks up at Tony through his eyelashes, “This feels pretty right to me, _Mr. Stark_.” 

Tony sucks in a breath, and Peter barely has a chance to react before he’s being turned around, his ass pressed to the solid front of the armor, his front flush against Tony’s chest. His cock lurches at the feel of metal. 

“FRIDAY, activate Iron Hold.” Tony says and Peter’s eyes widen as he feels the armor move, the gauntlet covering both his wrists, holding them above his head. 

“Has that always been there?” Peter asks, incredulous as he pulls against his new restraints. 

“Obviously,” Tony grins. “You aren’t the first one to fuck the suit, kid.” 

“You mean —” Peter blushes, a flurry of images crossing his mind. 

“Don’t get me wrong the nanite add-on was ingenious, but pretty much everything after the Mark 30 has something built in.” 

“Wow,” Peter breathes, and he watches Tony step back to pull his own clothes off. “Any chance I could sit in on a demonstration? For research purposes.” 

“ _For research_ , you’re adorable.” Tony laughs as he pulls off his sweatpants, and Peter swallows hard as he notices the hard outline of his cock through his dark boxers. 

“I’m going to take that as a yes.” Peter says, bold until Tony steps closer, running a hand through his hair, pulling sharply. 

“For you,” Tony whispers, his words gentle despite the firm grip in his hair and the contrast in sensation makes Peter whimper. “It’s always a yes, kid. Anything, everything. I’m yours.” 

Peter blushes, leaning against his restraints, making the metal squeak a little just so he can kiss Tony. 

“I know,” Peter mumbles against his mouth. _Armor, soul, heart_ , he thinks. _I’m yours._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos welcome! <3 thank you for reading!


End file.
